prologue
Curiosity was my first bad habit.
Even as a kid, I never stopped moving. Never stopped asking questions adults didn't want to answer. While other children spent their afternoons at parks or glued to televisions, my favorite place in the world was my uncle's laboratory.
Uncle Samual's lab wasn't meant for children. It hummed with electricity and quiet danger—rows of machines blinking with soft lights, metal counters lined with glass vials, drawers locked for reasons no one explained to me. Government-funded. Classified. Off-limits.
To me, it felt alive.
With both of my parents working for the LAPD, Sam became my default babysitter. He split his time between watching me and losing himself in his research. He wore the same lab coat every day, once white, now permanently stained with chemical burns and scorch marks. The air always smelled like metal and antiseptic, as if mistakes had happened there before and someone had worked very hard to erase them.
I used to think I was too fast for him to keep up with.
The truth was simpler—he was exhausted.
That afternoon, Derek was at the station with Dad for what was supposed to be a bonding day. I was left alone with Sam, who sat hunched over his desk, scribbling equations into a cracked leather notebook. His hair stuck out in every direction. His eyes were bloodshot. His lips moved silently as he worked through problems no one else could see.
I ran through the lab, pretending the machines were villains and I was the hero.
"James Everett Knight—slow down," Sam warned without looking up.
His voice wasn't angry. It was tight. Controlled. The kind of tone adults use when fear is sitting just beneath the surface.
"Those aren't toys," he added. "One wrong move and you'll burn yourself."
I grinned and spread my arms wide.
"I'm a superhero, Uncle Sam."
He finally looked at me then. For a brief moment, something flickered across his face—regret, maybe. Or fear. Then it was gone.
Before he could say anything else, I took off running again.
Cool air twisted around me beneath an overhead vent, lifting the hem of my shirt as I passed.
That's when I saw him.
A boy stood in the corner of the lab.
He was my age, with curly hair and wide, dark eyes that reflected the light like glass. He didn't look surprised to see me—only waiting as if he had always been there.
He didn't speak.
He pointed.
At me.
At the table.
At the vial.
My chest tightened. I knew him—or thought I did. He'd appeared before, always silent, always distant. But this time was different. His expression was urgent. Afraid.
He gestured again, silently urging me to drink it.
I should have run.
Instead, I picked up the vial.
The glass was warm, pulsing faintly in my hand, like it had a heartbeat of its own. The liquid inside glowed gold, thick and alive. I didn't think about consequences. I didn't think about Sam.
I swallowed.
The boy vanished.
Pain followed—not sharp, but deep. Like my bones were being torn apart and rebuilt at the same time. Heat ripped through my body. My knees buckled. My hands went numb.
The vial slipped from my fingers and shattered on the floor.
"JAMES!"
Sam caught me as I collapsed. His hands were shaking. His voice cracked when he said my name again.
The world blurred. The heat climbed my spine.
Then everything went black.
∆∆∆
The first thing I heard was a machine beeping.
Slow. Steady.
I woke up in a hospital room flooded with harsh white light. My body felt wrong—not injured, not sick. Just... off. Heavy and weightless all at once.
Then I looked down.
The hospital bed was crushed beneath me. Metal bent inward. The mattress was torn apart.
My feet weren't touching the floor.
I was floating.
"What the hell..." Sam whispered nearby.
He paced behind the curtain, dragging his hands through his hair. When he finally looked at me, his face went pale.
"How are you doing this?"
"I-I don't know," I said.
And the scariest part?
I wasn't afraid yet.
I was curious.
